


A Study in Blue

by CasualThursday



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 06:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26348242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasualThursday/pseuds/CasualThursday
Summary: A murder case in central London shows signs of android involvement. Connor is sent to investigate.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69





	A Study in Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything besides some minor OCs and the plot. I just couldn't resist. (Also, all forensics/police descriptions are total BS.)
> 
> Many much thanks, as always, to [funnyhowthatis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/funnyhowthatis/profile), [National_Nobody](https://archiveofourown.org/users/National_Nobody), and [potooyoutoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/potooyoutoo). Without your encouragement, support, and (invaluable) edits, this would be sitting on Google Drive for the rest of time. 
> 
> Dear reader, I hope you enjoy!

Hank told Connor to remove his LED before the flight.

Connor agreed. Reluctantly. It was the last thing that separated him from a Deviant, and even though he _was_ a Deviant himself, something in his programming made the thought itself uncomfortable.

But Europe strictly prohibited androids, and blending in for the investigation was a priority.

Hank accompanied Connor to the airport and he seemed stressed.

“Lieutenant,” he said, “Your stress levels have increased by 23% since we started the ride to the airport. Is there a problem?”

“Don’t scan me, kid,” Hank said. He didn’t sound angry. More… exasperated. “It’ll just be weird without you around.”

“It’s only for the duration of the case, Lieutenant,” Connor reminded him. “And the period of time I have known you is less than 2.97% of your entire life—”

“Shut up,” Hank said, pulling Connor into a hug. “Let me know how you are.”

“Yes, Hank.”

—

As he was an android, Captain Fowler had made sure he was able to pass through security without issue, both at Detroit and when he went through customs at Heathrow. 

Connor reviewed past cases on the flight. The Metropolitan Police Force had not been forthcoming with providing information. As to why that was the case, Connor had several hypotheses: the correct individuals were not contacted, the paperwork was not completed (or done on actual paper and not transferred to an electronic format), or the people involved were reluctant to work with him.

Though the last one was possible, especially considering how he was treated when he first was deployed to the Detroit Police Department, Connor was hurt by the thought of it. 

He reviewed what information he did have on the train ride to New Scotland Yard:

> **REPORT TO** DETECTIVE INSPECTOR GREG LESTRADE
> 
> **EVIDENCE OF ANDROID INVOLVEMENT**
> 
> Blue substance, suspected to be Thirium 310. Unconfirmed.

Connor predicted he would gain the rest of the details when he arrived (in 42:36 minutes if current traffic conditions continued), but went through what information he could get from the internet about the victim.

> **DECEASED**
> 
> **MILLARD, OWEN**
> 
> Height : 185.5 cm - Weight: 97.2 kg
> 
> Estimated Time of death : Unknown; “Late Monday night”— September 25— according to press release.
> 
> Cause of death : Unknown; “Brutally murdered” according to press release.

According to the deceased’s social media and references, he seemed like a normal, semi-successful businessman, with a wife and children.

Connor was tempted to extract phone records and other details from various sources to form a better picture, but predicted that his new co-workers would not appreciate a security breach to their firewalls. Humans were particular like that.

He occupied himself by reviewing the exact content of the press release. 

It took Connor 6:32 minutes to reach Metropolitan Police Services headquarters. He took a quick moment to check his appearance— and perhaps reassure himself that he looked fine in the suit that had no indications of his being an android— before he entered.

He approached the front desk.

> **NOLAN, GEORGE**
> 
> Born: 12/22/2008 // Police Constable
> 
> Criminal record: None

“Hello,” he said politely. “I’m Connor. I was sent in regards to the Millard case.”

Before he could get a reply, a woman strode up to him. “Do you even have an appointment?”

Connor turned towards her.

> **DONOVAN, SALLY**
> 
> Born: 07/02/2002 // Police Sergeant
> 
> Criminal record: None

“Because,” she continued, “we’ve got quite enough going on without surprise visitors.”

Connor turned towards her. “Sergeant Donovan,” he greeted, noting the faint surprise that came into her face, “I’m unsure of any scheduled appointments. If one was made, I was not informed by my supervisor.” A quick glance through his archives told him that Captain Fowler hadn’t even told the Metropolitan Police Service what time he would be there, and the date of arrival was rather vague—”In a few days.”

“My supervisor has been in contact with the Chief Superintendent.”

“And your boss is important, is he?” Sergeant Donovan said, crossing her arms.

“My supervisor is Captain Jeffrey Fowler,” Connor said, and Sergeant Donovan blinked. “My boss is Chief of Police Edward Leverton.”

“You’re an officer?” Sergeant Donovan asked, surprised. She stood up straighter. “Do you have an ID?”

Connor almost smiled. Because a year ago, he would have _never_ had a badge, an ID that wasn’t a serial number. Instead, he said “Of course,” and handed it to her.

“Anderson,” she read quietly. 

“No relation to the Anderson who worked here five years ago,” Connor added.

Sergeant Donovan snorted. “No mistake there. You look nothing alike.”

Connor did not say that was because they could not be related in any way, or that he borrowed the last name from a friend. He ran a quick check to see if Hank and Philip Anderson could be related, and determined that if they were, it was very distantly.

Sergeant Donovan handed his badge and ID back. “Wait here,” she said shortly, and strode off.

Connor took a seat in an empty chair in the lobby, noting the looks the secretary continued to shoot him (16), for the next 16:42 minutes until he heard Sergeant Donovan, talking quietly with a man at her side.

> **LESTRADE, GREGORY**
> 
> Born: 09/03/1995 // Police Detective Inspector
> 
> Criminal record: None

“You’re from the Detroit Police?” Detective Lestrade asked.

“Yes,” Connor said. “Would you like to see my badge and identification?” 

“No, no. You just took us a bit by surprise. I wasn’t told you were coming—” Detective Lestrade said.

“The Chief Superintendent is busy,” Sergeant Donovan said. She sounded defensive.

“I’m sure he is,” Connor agreed, noting the way the tension drained from her shoulders. “I’m glad you were able to rectify the situation so quickly.”

Detective Lestrade beckoned him to follow. “How much do you know about the case?”

“Very little,” Connor said, “Just that you have reason to suspect android involvement for the murder of Owen Millard.”

“Right,” Detective Lestrade sighed. “I can set you up to view the reports. We found some blue blood at the scene, but we don’t have a way to analyze it.”

“That’s what I’m here for. Are the reports stored electronically?” Connor asked.

“They _should_ be, but they aren’t, yet, I don’t think,” Detective Lestrade said.

“May I have permission to access your databases? I can file it for you,” Connor said.

“Would you really?” Detective Lestrade seemed relieved. “That would be excellent.” He paused. “Only if you’re going to do it anyway,” he added.

“Of course,” Connor nodded.

They stopped in front of a tiny empty table. “You can set up here for now,” Detective Lestrade said. “Sergeant Donovan will bring you the appropriate files.”

Connor set his luggage next to the table. “Thank you, Detective,” he said. Detective Lestrade gave an awkward nod and hurried away.

Sergeant Donovan returned a moment later, papers in hand. “Photos are downloaded already and most of the forensics. Do you need a laptop?” She gave a significant look at the empty desk.

Connor hesitated, and decided to not mention that he had no need for it. “I prefer to look at the documentation first.”

Sergeant Donovan shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Her eyes flickered towards the doorway and she scowled. “Shit,” she muttered. “Not again.” She walked towards the doorway, clearly trying to intercept the two men in the doorway.

> **HOLMES, SHERLOCK**
> 
> Born: 09/30/2002 // Consulting Detective
> 
> Criminal record: Trespassing, drug possession, assault, breaking and entering, murder (expunged)
> 
> **WATSON, JOHN**
> 
> Born: 03/18/1998 // Retired Army Doctor
> 
> Criminal record: Assault, ASBO, trespassing

“Did he call you in?” Sergeant Donovan asked them.

“That’s what he does doesn’t he, on cases the police are too incompetent to solve?” Mr Holmes said.

Doctor Watson looked annoyed and elbowed Mr Holmes in the side.

Connor looked back at the documents, flipping through them quickly, collecting the data and electronically syncing it to the Metropolitan Police Service servers.

“We would be able to get more done if you weren’t leaving a mess every time you came,” Sergeant Donovan was saying.

“Excuse me, Sergeant Donovan,” Connor interrupted. “Who is in charge of DNA testing and analysis?”

“That’d be Patrick,” Sergeant Donovan said. “Why, what did you need?”

“The Thirium 310 sample collected can be analyzed with the correct equipment. I figured that the sooner it can be analyzed the better, and at the same time I can demonstrate how it works in the event you require it for future cases.”

Mr Holmes’ eyes snapped to Connor. “You have a way to analyze thirium?”

“Yes, Mr Holmes,” Connor said simply. “I’ll go find Patrick, Sergeant.” He stood up smoothly. “Nice to meet you, Mr Holmes, Doctor Watson.”

As he left, Connor heard Mr Holmes behind him. “You’re hiring incompetent people from _America_ now?”

—

It was relatively simple to set up the equipment, though Connor was unsure if Patrick understood how the information it provided could be used. He formulated instructions and put them on the New Scotland Yard secure server, just in case.

“It’s not possible for an android to be going around doing this, is it?” Detective Lestrade asked. “I mean, people would be able to tell, wouldn’t they? A robot can’t blend in, really.”

Connor didn’t have time to respond, even if he could— he felt his hopes sink.

“We’ve got to go,” Sergeant Donovan, said, looking at her watch. “Press. Maybe you could come back tomorrow.” The last part was directed at Connor.

It wasn’t a request. 

“Understood,” Connor said. He wondered what he could do in the meantime.

Hank had bullied Captain Fowler into getting Connor a hotel room, despite the fact that he had no need for sleep, showering, or changing clothes. Something Connor was glad of now. Given Detective Lestrade’s behavior, as well as various articles circulating in London newspapers, public opinion of androids in the UK was that they are machines, albeit human looking ones. Just like before the revolution.

It would have been a lot more difficult if they knew what he was, so blending in was now a priority.

Standing outside of New Scotland Yard, suitcase next to him, Connor closed his eyes. 

Outside of Detroit, change was slow moving. 

He reached the hotel and waited 2:35 hours until he could check in. When the door to his room shut behind him, he called Hank.

“Fucksake, kid,” Hank answered immediately. “You know what time it is?”

“It’s 10:12, Lieutenant,” Connor said mildly. “I thought you were going to make an attempt to get to work on time without me?”

“Ah, shuddup,” Hank grumbled. “It’s too early.”

“Did I wake you?” Connor asked.

“No,” Hank replied. “Just haven’t had my coffee yet. How is it?”

“The experience is… unusual,” Connor started. “They think I’m human.”

“And you didn’t correct them,” Hank guessed. 

“People have been polite, even kind…” Connor paused. “Is that how most humans are treated?”

“If the other person is halfway decent, then yeah.”

“Compared to interactions in Detroit, when people were aware that I was an android, the positive interactions have increased by 78.4 percent.”

Hank sighed.

“Is that why you wanted me to remove my LED?”

“Part of it,” Hank admitted. “That and they’re not used to androids. I thought they’d be even more suspicious than the DPD was.”

“It’s definitely been easier to integrate socially,” Connor said. “But the detective inspector in charge was caught unaware by my presence. I was going to analyze the evidence more after I spoke with you.”

“Not as much progress as you usually do,” Hank surmised.

“No. It’s frustrating. I think.”

Hank chuckled. “You like keeping busy, kid. I’d say you were impatient to start working.”

Connor smiled slightly. “I suppose I am a little.”

“Androids don’t like coming in if you’re not here. And if they do, they only talk to me,” Hank complained.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” Connor said sincerely. “Many don’t trust humans. And because I work with you, you seem the most trustworthy.”

“Whatever,” Hank said. “Just more work for me. You better solve that and get your ass back here, you hear me?”

“My audio processor is perfectly functional, Lieutenant,” Connor said.

“Now, I can’t tell if you’re joking or not. And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Hank?”

“Sorry, Hank,” Connor said. “And it was a joke.” 

Hank let out a huff that could have been a laugh.

“I’ll return after I conclude the investigation,” Connor said. 

“I know you will, kid,” Hank said. “Give ‘em hell.”

Another strange human expression. “Got it. Have a good day, Lieutenant.”

“Goddammit, how many times do I have to ask you to call me—” Hank hung up.

Connor sent a message to tell Hank the exact number of times (21) Hank asked him that question.

A few moments later, he got a reply. _Get your work done, you little shit._

Connor grinned.

—

Connor arrived promptly the next morning and waited at the tiny table next to Detective Lestrade’s office.

After compiling the data at his disposal, he had a much better picture of what he was dealing with: serial killings.

Nine murders: all cisgender males, white, between thirty and forty years of age. Various types of office jobs, but all wearing suits at the time of their disappearance. And that was just the victim profile.

Detective Inspector Lestrade came in only 5:32 minutes late. Connor should not have been impressed, but used as he was to Hank’s chronic lateness, he couldn’t help but be surprised. He was more surprised by Mr Holmes and Doctor Watson accompanying him.

“Anderson,” Detective Lestrade said, waving him over. “You’re here bloody early.”

“I thought it best to continue as soon as possible,” Connor said.

“Anderson?” Mr Holmes said scornfully. He cast a derisive eye in Connor’s direction. 

“No connection with Philip Anderson, Mr Holmes,” Connor said. 

“He’s here for the robot stuff,” Detective Lestrade explained.

“Thirium analysis,” Mr Holmes clarified. He looked at Connor more critically. “Anderson’s not your real name.”

“You’re referring to my hesitation in responding to the name Anderson?” Connor asked.

Mr Holmes nodded shortly, while the other two men looked confused.

“That is correct,” Connor said simply. “Anderson as a last name is a recent acquisition.”

“There are better ones,” Mr Holmes commented.

Connor inclined his head but did not respond.

“What do you mean that Anderson isn’t your name?” Detective Lestrade asked.

“I was recently adopted, so the name Anderson is new to me,” Connor explained. “Please, call me Connor.”

Detective Lestrade shrugged. “Suit yourself. What’s this about therum?”

“Thirium, or Blue Blood,” Connor said. “It’s the fluid that powers biocomponents for CyberLife androids. Much like DNA, it can be used to identify an android by model and number.”

“That seems too good to be true,” Doctor Watson said doubtfully.

“In this situation, that may be the case,” Connor said. “Androids manufactured in Russia don’t use a blue-colored thirium-type substance, but Chinese manufactured androids do. Those androids are tracked using geolocation and time keeping devices instead. If that’s the case for this android, it would be more difficult to track down.”

“Identifying the android comes second in place of identifying the _man_ involved,” Mr Holmes insisted.

“I thought this was an android case,” Doctor Watson said, eyebrows raised. He and Detective Lestrade shared a look.

“The murders predate the start of any Deviant activity,” Connor explained. “Deviant being androids overriding their programming.”

“Murders,” Detective Lestrade repeated slowly. “So you agree with Sherlock then? We’re dealing with a serial killer?”

“I’m not sure how Mr Holmes reached his conclusion,” Connor said, “But I do agree that it is likely that Owen Millard is one victim of at least nine—”

“Eleven,” Mr Holmes interrupted. 

Connor paused. “Elise Harrington and Barbara Schultz?” Connor asked. “Victims before he established his M.O.?”

“Obviously.”

Detective Lestrade and Doctor Watson were staring at Connor, and he frowned. “I’m sorry, should I have mentioned that earlier?”

“Never in my life,” Detective Lestrade said. He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “How about we just look at that thirium, shall we?”

—

Patrick, under Connor’s direction, started the sample analysis.

“KR…” Patrick read slowly. “200?” 

“That’s the model,” Connor explained patiently. “What else?”

Patrick frowned. “It says ‘sample contaminated’, and then some kind of gibberish.”

Connor took a look. “That’s pinyin for the Mandarin word for the alternative blue blood fluid used for androids manufactured in China.” He sighed. “Which makes this a bit more complicated.”

“It corrupts the original sample,” Mr Holmes said. “So the model information is also contaminated.”

“No,” Connor said, “The model number is correct, but the machine number is lost. We can’t find out who originally owned them.”

“But you do have the model number?” Detective Lestrade asked.

“It will take longer to identify,” Connor explained. “There were approximately sixty thousand KR200s before CyberLife ceased android production, with the original coming out in 2036.”

“So what’s the correlation between the android and the killer?” Mr Holmes demanded. “There is no evidence of thirium at the other crime scenes, and it’s more probable that the android was used as a weapon. This wasn’t a serial killing duo.”

“Androids are perfectly capable of violence without being ordered to,” Connor said sharply, meeting Holmes’ gaze. “If she is sentient, she could be working with the killer.”

“You said ‘she’,” Dr Watson said. “Why’d you say that?”

“Androids were designed as appearing male or female,” Connor said, “The KR 200 model design is primarily female.”

“Can’t its appearance be changed?”

“Skin tone and hair color can be modified, but not their general body shape.” Connor resisted the urge to sigh again. “Let me start making inquiries.”

Holmes let out a scoff and swept out of the room.

Doctor Watson groaned. “Greg,” he said, addressing Detective Lestrade, “We’re going to investigate the human side of things.” Doctor Watson turned to Connor and held out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Connor. Please keep me updated. Sherlock wants to know but he’s not done enough research on androids.”

“It’s interesting seeing him so out of his element,” Detective Lestrade said, sounding gleeful.

Connor shook Doctor Watson’s hand. “Nice to meet you, too, Doctor Watson. I’ll keep you updated.”

“Call me John.”

“John,” Connor repeated, lips curving in a smile.

John gave him a quick, half-grin, before following Holmes.

—

Connor started through the various missing android cases for KR200 models. In the aftermath of the revolution, there were even more KR200 models on the street, but very few of those had disappeared and left a dead owner in their wake.

Even fewer with owners that met the victim profile.

That left 904 cases to review, 904 androids to place. He supposed he could ask Markus for assistance in discovering the fates of those androids, but Markus almost indiscriminately sided with androids. Even in cases of murder.

He scanned the cases.

Three were promising:

> **WILLIAMS, ANDREW**
> 
> Approximate date of death: 04/12/2038
> 
> Born: 02/25/2002 // Business consultant
> 
> Criminal record: Assault
> 
> **CORTANDEZ, MICHAEL**
> 
> Approximate date of death: 01/31/2038
> 
> Born: 10/15/1994 // Financial Director
> 
> Criminal record: OUI
> 
> **KARTHIK, WALTER**
> 
> Approximate date of death: 05/20/2038
> 
> Born: 05/03/1989 // Salesman
> 
> Criminal record: Drug possession

Each strayed from the killer’s M.O. in some way:

> Cortandez’s body was found in his hotel room.
> 
> Williams and Karthik were found at home. **_FITS MODUS OPERANDI._ **
> 
> Williams and Karthik were killed in the location their bodies were found.
> 
> Cortandez was killed elsewhere and his body moved. **_FITS MODUS OPERANDI._ **
> 
> Williams and Karthik were dressed at the time of their deaths.
> 
> Cortandez was not. **_FITS MODUS OPERANDI._ **
> 
> Williams died from a concussion.
> 
> Cortandez died from blood loss from a stab wound.
> 
> Karthik died from blood loss from a gunshot wound.
> 
> **INCONCLUSIVE.**
> 
> Williams and Karthik showed no signs of prolonged torture.
> 
> Cortandez did. **_FITS MODUS OPERANDI._ **
> 
> Williams had defensive wounds.
> 
> Cortandez and Karthik did not. **_FITS MODUS OPERANDI._ **
> 
> Williams and Karthik weren’t restrained.
> 
> Cortandez was. **_FITS MODUS OPERANDI._ **
> 
> Williams didn’t show signs of being injected.
> 
> Cortandez and Karthik did. **_FITS MODUS OPERANDI._ **
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> **CONCLUSION**
> 
> Williams meets profile 12.5%
> 
> _Contandez meets profile 75%_
> 
> Karthik meets profile 37.5%

Connor pulled up the information on Contandez’s case. 

The body was discovered January 31, 2038 at 10:37 AM when the hotel housekeeping came in to clean. Approximate time of death was found to be between January 30, 10:00 PM and January 31, 3:00 AM.

Contandez returned to his hotel room that night around 6:30. At some point he left the hotel, either voluntarily or by force, and was killed before his body was brought back to the hotel, and arranged sitting up against the headboard, legs splayed. 

The body had signs being bound at the chest, arms, wrists and ankles, bruising below the torso, various broken bones focusing on the hands and feet, and various cuts focused on high-sensitivity areas— and obvious signs of prolonged torture.

The wound that killed him was a stab wound that sliced through the posterior tibial artery— he would have died within minutes.

The KR200 was reported functioning until being reset around 6:45 PM. At 4:30 AM the next morning she was shut down, and her body never found. She was described as being missing. 

She was within the time frame that androids were starting to deviate from their original programming, but not the murders themselves, if it were the work of a serial killer. Meaning she joined the killer then.

So she could be acting under her own free will… or not.

He sent the potential visual of the KR200 to Scotland Yard. The likelihood of someone seeing her was low— the killer was able to operate without her for years, why would he start now?

It could be a distraction, but the fact that the thirium was there at all was telling. 

Of course, this didn’t at all limit the number of humans that were in New York City and also spent years before and after that trip in the United Kingdom. 

He asked Sergeant Donovan about the suspect profile.

“Mixed offender type,” she said, “Organized in the planning, disorganized in the torture.”

“Anything else?”

Sergeant Donovan sighed. “Not off the top of my head— look, can’t you just read the profile? Should be around here somewhere.”

“Yes,” Connor said, “Thank you, Sergeant.”

Sergeant Donovan gave a short nod and stopped short as she started to walk away.

“Freak!” she shouted, “You can _not_ come barging in whenever you have the whim to—”

“I need data,” Holmes said. “And hopefully the evidence you collected isn’t entirely destroyed by your ignorance.”

“You’d have a better time finding the robot,” Donovan sneered, “You could only understand something inhuman—”

“Mr Holmes,” Connor said sharply. Donovan, Holmes, and John all gave a start, as if they had forgotten he was there. “I hope you don’t take that as the insult it was clearly meant to be. Androids are just as _human_ as humans can be.” 

Connor let out a calming breath— completely unnecessary of course, but it made him feel better.

“Excuse me,” Connor continued politely. “I need to review the suspect’s psychological profile.” 

Connor didn’t like feeling angry, but he did. He went to a nearby park, the Whitehall Gardens, and sat himself in the closest unoccupied bench.

> **UNKNOWN SUBJECT PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE**
> 
>   * Murders are meticulously planned, little to no evidence found : normal to high intelligence, stable lifestyle, probably married and employed
>   * Bodies not hidden or destroyed, inflicted wounds are frenzied : fantasy/urge fulfillment, desire for recognition/fame, potential narcissism
>   * Torture and mutilation of the victim, binding : desire for control/power
> 

> 
> Primarily male victims =! sexual orientation; no evidence indicating sexual motivation

“Connor?”

He pulled himself out of his analysis, and found John Watson peering down at him.

“You alright?” John asked.

“I’m fine, Dr Watson,” Connor said, rising to his feet.

“You can call me John, you know,” John said, eyebrow raised.

“Right, sorry,” Connor said with a sheepish smile, “I’m not used to informalities.”

“That’s okay,” John reassured him. “Whatever makes you comfortable.” John shifted on his feet. “So, how’s your investigation going?”

“As well as can be expected,” Connor replied, starting to walk back to the station. “There’s not so much I can go on without seeing the evidence for myself.”

“But you got information on what… type of android it could be?”

“Yes.”

“...And?”

“I’ve narrowed it down to one android in particular.” 

“What?!” John shouted, before looking around quickly. “That quickly?” he continued quietly.

“There were three with owners who matched the victimology and whose deaths occurred within a gap between the murders in London. One of them had a 75% match to the M.O., the other two were 12.5% and 37.5%. It’s not impossible that it could be one of the other two, but less likely.”

“Can she be tracked?”

“She was taken offline when she was reset,” Connor said, “And the information she could have gathered is stored in her local memory, not on the CyberLife server.”

“So we can’t look at it,” John muttered.

“Have you made any progress with the human suspect?”

“Got a few leads,” John answered. “Turns out he’s divorced, was in an accident several years ago, and has a hobby that he’s passionate about.”

“How did you come to those conclusions?” Connor asked, curious.

“Ah, well,” John shrugged. “Sherlock does his ‘deducting’ thing. And he’s usually right.”

“I’ll have to ask,” Connor said, “I’m… curious.”

“Sorry,” John said, “Sherlock would know more.”

Connor shook his head. “What were your own conclusions?”

“My own conclusions?” John repeated.

Connor frowned. “Yes?”

“People usually just want to know what Sherlock thinks,” John explained. “Not used to people asking me.”

“I don’t see why that would be the case,” Connor said. “In addition to your medical degree, you have combat experience and a solid grasp on human behavior.”

“I don’t have training with solving crimes, though,” John pointed out.

Connor raised his eyebrows. “Just how long have you and Mr Holmes been working together?”

John opened his mouth. Closed it, frowning.

Connor nodded. “So we’re looking for a man, divorced, in his forty or fifties. He has a stable job, probably in a technical field, that entails some amount of travel, but enough free time to pursue a hobby. He lives in the vicinity of Vauxhall and Lambeth, takes public transportation, and was involved in an accident that limited his strength or mobility. He has some less than favorable connections, and is calm and meticulous with an average to high level of intelligence.”

John stopped, and Connor paused also to look at him. 

“How in the world did you manage that?” John asked, looking bewildered. 

“Part of it is from extrapolating data from the crime scene, as well as statistics from past cases. Of course, nothing is completely accurate, but it may give us an idea of who we’re looking for.”

“Why a technical job?”

“He had to figure out some way to completely cut off the KR200 from the CyberLife network, which means he has to have at least some kind of technical background if he was able to make changes without destroying the android completely.”

“Unbelievable,” John muttered. “So,” he continued, “That limits the scope of it, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” Connor agreed. “Were you able to visit any of the crime scenes?”

“The last one. Owen Millard. Sherlock was shocked to find the— thirium, was it?— at the scene.”

“The suspect is getting more confident,” Connor explained. “He risked being discovered by Owen Millard’s family. If the police weren’t brought in so soon, I doubt the android involvement would have been discovered.”

At John’s questioning look, Connor explained. “Thirium evaporates and becomes invisible to the human eye; you need special equipment to see it because it doesn’t show up on tests done for human blood.”

“So he’s already made his mistake,” John said, surprised.

“Yes. If the thirium had not been discovered, I suspect the killings would continue until the police started closing in on the human suspect. Then the android would continue the murders to remove suspicion.” 

“And it’d have worked,” John muttered. “We’re lucky.”

“It’s luck on our part and arrogance on theirs,” Connor considered. “It’s best to keep the knowledge of android involvement under wraps for now.”

—

The next morning, at 2:34 AM, Connor got a call to his hotel room.

“Sorry,” John said on the other end. “I didn’t know how else to contact you.”

“It’s alright,” Connor reassured him. “You’ve found something?”

“Yes, well,” John lowered his voice. “Greg didn’t want to bother you, considering you’re a consultant for this case and it’s two in the morning, but I thought you’d like to know.”

“You’re correct,” Connor said. “Is it a new crime scene or an old one?”

“Where Owen Millard was killed.” John rattled off the address, before saying goodbye.

Connor was at the scene in ten minutes.

Detective Lestrade spotted him approaching and ran a hand over his face. “Really, Anderson, you aren’t needed here. The scene’s too crowded as it is.”

“Detective Inspector,” Connor greeted politely. “Do you have the technology to see thirium traces?”

“Thirium traces?” Lestrade repeated.

“Thirium evaporates quickly. The only reason you found a sample was recklessness on the killer’s part. But traces can be identified through other means.”

“We’ve been over it with luminol—”

“Luminol has no effect on thirium,” Connor interrupted smoothly. “You need a particular light and camera to view it.” Connor took out a small device with a camera and light. “If you want to view any traces of thirium, you will have to use this.” 

Lestrade silently let him pass onto the crime scene.

It was a condemned building, dusty and dirty in the way that old buildings became after years of abandonment. Lestrade led the way to the basement and to a room closer to the center of the building.

“Decently sound proofed,” Connor noted. He took in the room, ignoring Holmes and John for a moment, standing off to the side.

A chair was in the middle of the room, underneath a single bulb dangling from the ceiling. 

Connor identified blood stains on the wood and several smaller splatters of blood on the floor. He stepped closer.

Parts of the chair were worn— marks from ropes rubbing the stain from the wood. Microscopic fibers caught in the grain— natural fibers.

He stepped back, and held up the Thirium camera, making a show of looking around.

One of the SOCOs stepped up to him cautiously, and Connor explained how it worked before handing it off to her— 

> **BOURITEK, AMY**
> 
> Born: 08/10/2012 // Scene Of Crime Officer
> 
> Criminal Record: None

There was a tiny spot of thirium, on the arm of the chair, leading to a larger pool towards the side.

The KR200 was probably the one manhandling Millard, holding him in place while the killer secured him. When Millard fought back, the KR200 was injured, stepped back to tend her wound. Reopened it when moving the body.

“This tells us nothing,” Holmes grumbled. “Why am I here, John?”

“Because it’s a crime scene,” John muttered back. “You like crime scenes.”

“Well this one is dreadfully dull,” Holmes replied petulantly. “It would be more constructive if we tracked down the drugs—”

“Must we?” John asked with a sigh.

“Mr Holmes, John,” Connor said, walking towards them.

Holmes barely looked at him.

“Connor,” John responded. He jerked his head towards the chair. “What do you make of it?”

“The android is the one doing the manhandling,” Connor explained. “She’s the one holding the victim in place while the other party binds him.” He paused. “That and the blood.”

“Right,” John said, glancing towards the chair. “There’s blood, but not nearly enough to cause death.”

“And the cause of death _is_ blood loss.”

“So, he’s collecting it?”

“That appears to be the case.”

Holmes stared at Connor. He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like Andersons as a rule,” he said slowly, “But I might need your brain.” He turned to John. “There’s someone I need to meet.”

“Why do I have a bad feeling about this…”

—

The someone Holmes had mentioned needing to meet turned out to be a suspect.

They stood outside a semi-detached house, one in a row of identical looking houses, with a neatly cut front garden lawn with a few bushes.

> **RESIDENT** : BROOKS, ANTHONY
> 
> Born: 12/08/1986 // Security Company Technical Support Specialist
> 
> Criminal record: None
> 
> Education : Coventry University, Mathematics
> 
> Marital Status : Divorced
> 
>   * Was in a car accident in November 2036, and suffers from chronic pain. 
>     * _Same period when methods of tying victims changed._
>     * _Chronic pain can be treated with fentanyl._
>   * Was in New York City, New York, USA for a conference and business meetings January 20 - 25, 2018. 
>     * _Stayed at the same hotel as CONTANDEZ, MICHAEL._
>     * _Was in NYC during the estimated time of death for CONTANDEZ, MICHAEL_.
>   * Takes public transportation to and from work.
>   * Lives in Lambeth.
>   * Hobby is painting.
> 


The circumstantial evidence was there, but they needed something more concrete. 

Mr Brooks looked surprised when he opened the door. “Mr Holmes!” he exclaimed. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need your expertise,” Holmes lied smoothly.

Mr Brooks blinked slowly. “By all means,” he said, “But what kind of expertise? Security systems?”

“How New Scotland Yard’s security system could be tampered with,” Holmes said. “There’s an incident I’m investigating, and it might be an internal one.”

“And you have the details?”

Holmes handed over his phone, which Brooks took, squinting down at it. 

“Please come in,” he said.

“Doctor Watson,” Holmes introduced belatedly. “And Anderson.”

Connor smiled politely. 

Brooks nodded, gesturing with the phone. “Best take a look at this, shall I?”

As soon as Brooks left the room, Connor leveled a look at Holmes. “Please tell me those aren’t the real details.”

Holmes brushed him off. “If he has the ability to make sense of those, he could also easily manipulate the buildings of where all the bodies were discovered.”

“Yes,” Connor agreed, frowning, “But now he has information that threatens the security of police headquarters.”

“What do we need to find?” John whispered urgently.

“I have it,” Holmes answered shortly, holding up a phone. “Just need to keep appearances.”

“His phone,” Connor said dumbly. He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t get headaches, but he felt one coming anyway. “You do realize—”

“Not here,” Holmes answered distractedly. “This is England.”

“Just pretend you didn’t see anything,” John muttered. “It’s what I do.”

“I have what you would call an eidetic memory,” Connor replied tersely. “If I’m asked, I won’t lie about it.”

Holmes shrugged. “Good enough.”

Mr Brooks returned.

“At the very least, the cameras could be hacked; not enough monitoring on their CCTV. That, and the west entrance is less than secure.” Mr Brooks shrugged. “Not much else I can tell you.”

Holmes looked disappointed. “I see. Thank you.” 

There was the sound of the door opening and closing.

“Ah,” Brooks said, smiling. “My niece, Helen,” he explained.

A woman walked in.

> **KR200** Model
> 
> Eye color : Gray
> 
> Hair color : Blonde
> 
> Release Date : June 2037

Connor narrowed his eyes, scanning.

Constandez’s KR200 android originally had brown hair, but the gray eyes were the same. That, and the physical similarities between Brooks and this “Helen”, were only the blond hair. Probably the reason why she changed it.

A quick search indicated that Brooks was an only child, with no nieces or nephews to speak of.

“Hello,” Helen said with a confused smile. “Uncle Tony, what’s—”

“Just some consulting work, that’s all,” Mr Brooks said soothingly, patting her arm. “I’m sorry I can’t help any more,” he said, this time towards Holmes. 

“You’ve helped tremendously,” John said when it was clear that Holmes wasn’t about to respond. 

Helen was carrying a bag of art supplies— brushes and a canvas to be exact. “Do you paint, Miss Brooks?” Connor asked.

Helen looked startled at being addressed. “Um, no, I—”

“I do,” Mr Brooks interjected. “A little hobby of mine.”

“I see,” Connor said, nodding. “It’s my friend’s hobby as well. I don’t have the talent for it.”

“It’s not about _talent_ ,” Mr Brooks said. “It’s about _persistence_. I wasn’t all that good to start with—”

“Uncle,” Helen said reproachfully.

Mr Brooks waved away her protests. “It’s true,” he said. “You just need to work at it and you’ll improve.” He opened a cabinet and pulled out a small canvas. “This one isn’t varnished yet— I tend to work with ink in sepia tones.”

It was a view from an office window, looking down on ant-sized cars in a road. Connor recognized the skyline as New York City.

“May I?” Connor asked, ignoring the way Holmes was glaring at him. Mr Brooks handed it over, and Connor took it, studying it closely, touching a corner gently with his left hand.

“I’m no expert, but it’s beautiful,” Connor said. “Thank you for showing me.”

“We’ve got to go,” Holmes said shortly.

John said goodbye to Mr Brooks and Helen, Connor shaking her hand before they left. As soon as the door closed, he scanned his right hand.

> NO FINGERPRINTS DETECTED.

He lifted his left hand to take a sample.

> **DRIED BLOOD**
> 
> DNA Analysis : CORTANDEZ, Michael
> 
> Sample date : >400 days

“Are you coming with?” John asked. 

Connor looked up. “No, thank you. I’ll be returning to the station.” 

The best way to get Anthony Brooks into the station was through Helen.

—

“You found the android,” Lestrade said dumbly, looking through the interrogation room window where Helen sat, motionless and unblinking.

“Yes,” Connor said simply. “What is Brooks saying?”

“That she came out of nowhere, claiming to be distant family. Said she wanted to reconnect, and she seemed legitimate. Didn't want money or anything like con artists do these days.” Lestrade shook his head. “Don’t know how he could have mistaken her for human. Look at her!”

“She is making a convincing impression of a cartoon robot,” Connor said. Helen’s movements were robotic, her voice and mannerisms similarly so. “She’s overdoing it.”

“What do you mean, overdoing it?” Donovan asked.

“She’s pretending to be a machine to protect her accomplice.”

“Then how are we supposed to get information from her?”

“Did you search the house?” Connor asked.

“We’re searching now,” Lestrade said, frowning. “Though I’d like to know _why_ …” He trailed off, but Connor wasn’t inclined to elucidate him. 

“I recommend using their relationship as leverage when talking to her, ”Connor continued. 

“Their… _relationship_?” Donovan repeated. “What _relationship_? It’s a machine!”

Connor leveled her with a look. “I have experience interrogating androids,” he said, “That is, if you don’t mind.”

Lestrade shrugged. “Be my guest.”

Connor entered the interrogation room, relieving the officer there. He noticed the marginal widening of Helen’s eyes.

“Hello, Helen,” Connor started. “My name is Connor.”

“Hello again, Connor,” Helen said blandly.

“I wanted to ask you some questions.”

“Of course.”

Connor paused, smiling. “I just want to help you, Helen,” he said. “Can you tell me your model number?”

“KR 200 #438 259 801.”

“Good,” Connor smiled. “That’s a great start. What’s your favorite color?”

There was a thud against the window glass and a muffled yell. Connor ignored it.

Helen paused. “I am a machine. I have no favorite color.”

“Okay, then,” Connor said agreeably. “What is Tony’s favorite color?”

“Red,” she answered without hesitation. 

“How did you get to London?”

“Stowaway,” she said shortly. “Ship.”

“Do you recognize this man?” Connor slid over a picture of Michael Contandez. 

She stared at it. “N-no.”

“No?” Connor repeated.

“No,” Helen said, more firmly.

“I see. How did you meet Tony?”

“Street. Lied. Said was family.”

“And why do you help him?”

“Don’t.”

“You don’t? So you kill those people yourself?”

“No killing.”

“But one of you is killing,” Connor said. “That’s why blood can be found in your apartment, used in the paintings. Blood older than even your creation date.”

“No—” Helen shouted. She looked surprised at her own outburst. “I— I stole it.”

“So they were blood donations?” Connor asked.

“Yes.”

“That’s not possible either,” Connor said, tilting his head slightly. “Any donations from your victims were donated long before you arrived here.”

“Fine,” Helen said, face turning into a scowl. “I killed them. The humans had to _pay_.”

“Why did they have to pay?” Connor asked.

“For making me into a slave!” Helen yelled. “They deserved it—”

“Then why paint?”

“Be-because I wanted to-to make something—”

The lights went out.

“Shit,” Connor muttered, rising to his feet, but Helen was already at the door, throwing it open. “He hacked your security systems,” he shouted, dashing after her.

Connor checked the security cameras— they showed only static, still chasing Helen as she dashed towards the exit. 

“Where is it?” Lestrade shouted from behind him. 

“Heading towards the West exit,” Connor called, skidding around a corner. He could see a van in the distance, window rolled down. “Helen, stop!”

Helen didn’t listen, and opened the door.

A shot rang out, accompanied by the squealing of tires as the van sped away. Helen fell to her knees and collapsed.

“Shit,” Connor muttered, falling to his knees next to her.

“Sy— systems failing,” she stuttered, blue blood bubbling out of her mouth. “Shutdown imminent.” Her eyes fluttered.

“I’m sorry,” Connor said. “There’s no compatible parts here—”

Helen shook her head minutely. “No, I-I’m sorry.” Her voice was staticky. “It made him ha-happy. Wanted him— wanted him _happy_.” She smiled sadly. “Loved him. Thought he loved me.” She touched his hand.

“Connor,” she said, skin peeling back from her hand as she touched his. “Make it right. Set them _free_ —” Data passed over in an instant. “Please. I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Connor said, squeezing her hand.

“You do, don’t you,” Helen said, sounding bemused. Her eyes stilled.

Connor set her down carefully. 

Lestrade approached him slowly. “She’s dead?”

“Yes,” Connor said, rising to his feet. “And she’s given us the proof you needed. Her memories are downloaded to our servers.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Lestrade muttered. “How’d he do that?”

“You really need to upgrade your security systems,” Connor informed him. “You’ve been hacked.”

—

“Okay,” Lestrade said. 

They were 1:34 hours into reviewing the footage from Helen.

“I think I’ve seen enough.”

Connor stopped the recording, and glanced toward Lestrade. He looked pale. “Well,” Lestrade started. “That does it.”

“I’ll put out a call for his arrest, get his picture on all the news stations,” Donovan said, before setting her mouth in a thin line and making her way out of the room with unusual quickness.

“You alright, Anderson?” Lestrade asked. “That must have been… a bit much.”

“It is… disturbing. The depths to which people sink,” Connor agreed. “But I’m alright.” 

“We can finish tomorrow, if need be,” Lestrade said, “Our priority is getting Brooks into custody.”

“Understood,” Connor said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Inspector.”

It was dark as Connor started the walk back to his hotel, but not raining— a small blessing, he’d learned in the short time he’d been in London. 

He stopped suddenly on the sidewalk, ignoring the disgruntled noises of people who were forced to move around him.

Connor hadn’t heard from John in several hours. Neither had Lestrade. And considering Holmes and John’s track record for murder cases, the likelihood that they had found the murderer already was 92%.

“Shit,” Connor muttered, tracking both John and Sherlock’s phones in an instant before hailing a cab.

The signal led him to a closed power plant. The door was forced open— 

Of course, Sherlock and John had ended up finding Brooks first.

Connor heard Brooks talking as he notified Lestrade of his location.

“Red is such a beautiful color, isn’t it?” Brooks asked. “It’s why I didn’t kill her sooner. She was useful, sure, I thought killing her would be a waste—” He paused. “But it was too dangerous you see. Even though I could use her. She thought I loved her—” Brooks laughed.

Connor could make out the scene in the reflection in the window. Brooks, with a gun in his hand pointed at Sherlock and John.

> Drawing Brooks’ attention minimized harm to Sherlock and John to 23%. 
> 
> Attacking Brooks minimized harm to 48%. 
> 
> Doing nothing maintained harm at 87%. 

_Hank was going to kill him._

“Mr Brooks,” Connor said, stepping from behind the corner.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” John muttered, looking horrified. Sherlock looked similarly surprised.

“You were with them,” Brooks said.

“Yes,” Connor said. “I have a few questions.”

“I don’t think you understand the situation,” Brooks said, gesturing carelessly with the gun. “I’m in charge here.”

“I don’t think you’ll mind answering them,” Connor said, hands raised in surrender, stepping carefully around shattered glass. “It’s about your artwork.”

“My paintings?” Brooks clarified, brow furrowed.

“I was wondering how you choose your subjects,” Connor continued smoothly. “The view from the office building—” 

“It was his office,” Brooks grinned. “He deserved what he got.”

“What did he do?”

“He was arrogant. Foolish. Didn’t appreciate the gifts he had. So when he was flying so high, I brought him back to earth.”

“All of your paintings have similar themes,” Connor said. “Looking down from on high—”

“I’ve had people over, showed them,” Brooks’ gaze fixed itself firmly on Connor. “You’re the only one who guessed.” He frowned. “That’s too bad,” he said. “You would have been perfect.”

He pulled the trigger, and Connor dropped. 

> BIOCOMPONENT 9584m 
> 
> **DAMAGED**
> 
> FUNCTIONING AT 87%
> 
> Initiating self repair… 

There was a shout— John— followed by sounds of a struggle. 

“I’ve got him, John,” Sherlock shouted. “Stomach wounds can bleed out—”

“I know, Sherlock,” John snapped. 

Connor heard him kneel down next to him and turn him over.

“What the—?” John started.

“I’ve suffered minimal damage, Doctor Watson,” Connor said, rising to his feet.

“What the _everloving fuck_?” John spluttered. “I— what— you—”

“You’re an android?” Brooks asked hoarsely. “But how—?”

Connor rose to his feet. Already, his synthetic skin was covering the bullet hole. He frowned at it. That was a new shirt.

“Humans don’t have the best track record in treating androids courteously,” Connor explained. “You are a perfect example.”

“But you’re so—”

“Human?” Connor guessed. “Emotions are not limited to humans.” He gestured to himself. “Obviously.” He buttoned his suit jacket to cover the thirium stain. “Detective Lestrade is outside.” Connor tilted his head towards the door. “Shall we?”

—

Connor was being stared at. He looked down at his shirt and jacket. The thirium had evaporated, and the bullet hole was hidden by his suit jacket. 

“Is there a hole on the other side?” Connor asked John.

John gave a start. “Um… yes.”

Connor frowned. “This suit was new…” He sighed. “I should probably go change.”

“Hold on a sec,” Lestrade said, jogging down the hallway. “Can we, erm, get your statement?”

Connor frowned. “I’m not sure how useful it would be. I’m not considered a human in your country. My testimony might be thrown out; it’s part of why I wasn’t sent as an investigator.”

“Just for records, then,” Lestrade bargained.

Connor nodded slowly. “Very well, then.”

Lestrade let out an exasperated sigh as Sherlock and John followed them to a smaller office.

“No need for an interrogation room,” Lestrade said, settling into his chair and pulling out a tablet. “Just name, erm, date of birth, the usual.”

Connor smiled slightly. “I’m afraid you’ll have to modify many of those categories, Inspector.” He nodded at the tablet. “Is it recording?”

“Yeah, yeah it is.”

“Then I’ll start,” Connor said. “I am an RK series prototype, model RK800, serial # 313 248 317. I was… _born_ in August 2038. I’m currently employed as a detective with the Detroit Police Department.

“Do they _know_?” Lestrade asked.

Connor frowned, pulling at his shirt sleeves. “Of course. I was informed that the Chief Superintendent knows as well.”

“Fuckin’— ” Lestrade cut himself off. “You were the one who informed us where Sherlock and John were. How did you know?”

“I— my apologies, Dr Watson, Mr Holmes,” Connor said quickly, “I tracked Dr Watson’s phone.”

“How’d you do that?” John asked.

“You gave me your phone number.” 

“Oh,” John said.

“And you’re the one who told us to test the paintings. How’d you know about _that_?”

“RK800 was originally designed to be a detective,” Connor explained. “I can analyze samples in real time.”

Now they were staring at them. “So… you _analyzed_ it?”

“In addition to recognizing her model’s facial structure, I verified that Helen was an KR200 by scanning for fingerprints; there were none which spoke to her being an android. I made an excuse to touch one of the paintings so I could take a sample for testing. The color was similar to that of iron oxide, and we knew that there was blood taken from the crime scene. I knew it was a possibility, so I wanted to check. Turned out I was correct.”

“So, instant analysis?”

“I simply compared it to the DNA database and found a match for a victim.”

“Simple, he says,” Lestrade muttered. “So… Anderson’s not your name?”

Connor smiled at that. “Not legally, no. I borrowed it from a friend.”

“Are you going to… send the data over?”

“I’ve been cataloguing it as I gathered it, Inspector,” Connor said calmly. “You haven’t logged on since last week.”

Lestrade turned slightly pink. “Right, I’ll, er… get on that.” He drummed his fingers on the table before standing, the rest of the room following suit. “Well, good work, I suppose.”

Connor shook his hand. “Thank you, Inspector.”

—

John and Sherlock accompanied him to the airport. 

Which was surprising, but Connor tried not to think too much of it.

“Thank you for bringing me,” Connor said, turning towards them. 

“It was nice to meet you, Connor,” John said sincerely. “I hope you get to visit sometime. For fun, though.”

“That depends entirely on our respective countries’ governments,” Connor said, a smiling pulling at the corners of his mouth. “And if you need my expertise—”

“I’ll be sure to contact you.”

They shook hands.

“Connor,” Sherlock said gravely, holding out a hand.

Connor smiled at him and took his hand. “The same goes to you, Mr Holmes,” Connor said. 

“I doubt I’ll need it,” Sherlock said, and added, before John could elbow him. “But thank you.” he hesitated. “Mr Holmes is my father. Or, worst case scenario, _Mycroft_.”

> **HOLMES, MYCROFT**
> 
> Born: 06/12/1996 // Government Official - REDACTED
> 
> Criminal Record: None - REDACTED

“RA9 forbid,” Connor said wryly. He enjoyed their shared look of confusion.

When he arrived back in Detroit, Hank was waiting for him in the pick up area, Sumo settled happily in the back seat. The window was open, and Sumo looked ready to launch himself through it to reach Connor, and only by some miracle did Sumo stay in the car.

“So, how was it?” Hank asked.

“Rainy,” Connor answered honestly. “It was… different.”

“I bet,” Hank agreed.

“I think I’d like to visit again. For… fun.”

“Hey, you get vacation time just like the rest of us,” Hank said. “Might as well.”

Connor sighed. “I’m glad to be home.”

“Me, too, kid,” Hank said, reaching over to ruffle Connor’s hair.


End file.
